If only Clay could cry
by HeWhoScrawls
Summary: Basil Karlo presents a tribute to a few members of The Wayne Family on the reunion of a tragic and important event in their family's and the city's history


_Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths..._

The wind blew heavily, the air was cold as ice and the rain which pelted down upon the city had just recently turned to snow, now falling peacefully over the seemingly tranquil urban environment, though that was just on the surface, a surface that was quickly being covered by a thick white veil, masking what was truly underneath, and while horrendous acts were surely being committed around the town in various locations, whether it be at the hands of a small time crook, or a criminal mastermind, a specific and truly twisted performance was taking place. A very important performance.

_It's nothing, you've performed for bigger crowds. Deep breaths._

The Monarch Theatre s doors would be closed any other night, but not tonight. Tonight, the marquee read something truly magnificent:

_**The Wayne's Story. 8:10 PM.**_

Tonight, was a reunion. Yes, a truly momentous day in Gotham s history, a day that was to be commemorated by one actor with a tribute of sorts, a sick tribute, but a tribute nonetheless. There was not a single empty seat in the audience. For once these days, Basil Karlo had an audience.

_She sells sea shells by the sea shore._

Karlo stood over the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror, his red stubble poking out and blending in with his thick head of hair via two thick red sideburns which trailed up his cheeks. He quickly turned on the tap, filed his hands with water and ran them over his face. Now, when he looked into the mirror, he saw his features twisted, mangled and not quite right. Hideous. Horrifying. Monstrous. That s how it looked. But a little magic must always be made behind the scenes. His face quickly began to devour itself, shifting and writhing on his blank canvas of a face, his body began to shrink, and the colors and style of his clothing changed drastically, along with the color of his hair and every other feature he had, pieces of his body ripped off and began to create themselves, scampering off to their places. Though, In the end, when he looked into the mirror, a boy stared back at him. He squeezed his eyes tight.

_The time is now._

It was showtime. Basil approached the curtains, where an older woman and an older man were standing. The Curtains drew themselves open and the title music began to play, what sounded like a distorted record, attempting to play a classical tune, which only ended up sounding twisted and demented, slightly haunting, to be frank. The music faded and the lights came up. The boy and his older companions took centre stage.

_Shhhhhh..._

A hush fell over the crowd, all the noises ceased, and now, only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard out in the crowd, every now and then a soft whimper, but not enough to ruin the show. The boy skipped on, miming a few sword flourishes with an imaginary blade, letting out a soft giggle as his father played along, eventually running his fingers through the boys hair and declaring him a good kid .

The woman walked along behind them in her high heels.

"Thomas? Do we really have to go this way?"

She asked, furrowing her brow and holding her purse tight. The man addressed as Thomas simply rolled his eyes, looking around him. Behind him, a large, poorly built set stood, a set made to look like a worn out brick wall with graffiti and the like painted onto it. What seemed to be a lopsided trash can was also painted onto the backdrop.

"It s just an alley Martha, trust me, it ll be fine. Besides, we have Bruce to take care of us."

The man with the chiselled features and rugged good looks stated, gesturing to their son as he wrapped his arm around his wife s shoulder. He leaned in close and gave her a quick peck on the lips, something she immediately replied too by giving him a much longer and laboured kiss.

_Cue Frost._

The figure approached from the other side of the stage, entering the stage seemingly out of nowhere and wearing a baggy hoodie, draping the hood over his face. The man had a revolver in hand, a revolver that didn't seem to be a prop, it seemed all too lifelike. The boy let out a yelp of surprise as he saw the figure approaching. The two actors playing his parents were staring starry eyed at each other when the boy attempted to speak.

"Daddy...Momm-"

The boy started.

"Empty yer' damn pockets!"

The man interrupted in a fairly quiet shout, he lifted the revolver and pointed it at Thomas, then moved it to Martha. He didn't pay much attention to the boy, who was staring in fear, eyes widened, knees knocking. Thomas reached into his coat pocket, soon pulling out a wallet, which he in turn tossed to the gunman. The Hooded figure instantly shoved it into his pocket.

"Now the chick, gimme the pearls."

He snapped. Thomas shook his head, while Martha instinctively reached up, toying with the clasp on her pearl necklace.

"There's no need for that, leave my wife alone-"

Thomas began to speak before being interrupted.

"Shut up!"

The gunman screamed, reaching out to grab Martha, though something was off, the actor playing the gunman s arm stretched a bit too far, and when it came into contact with Martha s neck, her neck, pearls and all, indented, almost absorbing the man s hand, and things got even stranger when Thomas s actor attempted to stop him, stepping in between the two of them and becoming mixed in the jumble. The boy had been screaming the entire time, screaming for them all to stop. The attacker instinctively fired his gun into Thomas s chest, forcing his body to fall onto the ground, making a sickening thap sound rather than a thump, Bruce only screamed louder, his mother joining him now.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

Was all the mugger could say, reaching up and firing two shot s into Martha s head, spraying blood. As the actor playing the mugger ran off stage, the audience was no longer quiet, the people were thrashing out, beginning to whine, moan, some were screaming for help, there was something noticeably wrong, their chairs were sinking down with every movement of theirs, faster and faster as the tension of the show rose. The ground was twisting and shifting, as if it was all made of some sort of substance like quick sand. The audience was overpowering the boy s screams as he fell to his knees over top of his now dead parents.

"Mommy...Daddy..."

The boy was breathing hard, he was pushing with all his might. This was Basil s moment, he d been practising and practising, he was giving it all. He s the greatest actor to ever live, he knows it, but still, he can t cry. Not like this. The moaning, the screaming, the incessant nattering grows louder. His head is pounding. The boy is pushing with all his might, why can t he cry? He used to be able too. Why can t he cry?

_Concentrate. Dig deep. This is your big moment._

The Boy placed his hands on his father s gaping chest, the blood is warm on his hands, or, he thinks it is. He hasn't blinked. He can't blink. He needs to cry.

"OH GOD PLEASE LET US GO!"

A woman screams from within the crowd, the boy spasms, gagging as his facial features distort for a brief moment. The woman in the crowd disappears, her chair collapsing within itself and devouring her, pulling her down into the ground itself. The audience now only screams themselves.

"Stop. Please."

Basil s voice whispers, escaping the little boy s mouth, it sounds so odd.

"Please stop."

The boy now whispers.

"Mommy."

His face is twisting.

"Daddy."

The screams are as loud as can be.

**_"STOP!"_**

A booming voice fires out of the boy s mouth, though the boy is disappearing into his parents. The two bodies on the stage are reducing to nothing but clay as screams of disbelief and sadness echo through the room, the audience is coming to the realization of what s about to happen. Men, women and children alike scream within their seats as the boy roars, as his body fuses with his parents, as all color s dissipate and in their place on the stage, a giant figure is left on it s hands and knees, dripping it s clay body down onto the stage, and in turns, the stage absorbs what drips, building and rebuilding his body.

**_"Why can't I cry?"_**

It was a powerful blow to his self esteem as an actor. He had dug deep and come out with nothing, and now, the screams of the audience were nothing more to him but brutal heckling. They screamed for forgiveness, they screamed to be set free. No. He wouldn't let it had to pay. The wall s, the roof, the ground, they were all coming to life, twisting and turning, it s surface writhing over itself as rows and rows of faces materialized on it s surface, all mimicking them, screaming for forgiveness as their seats were pulled simultaneously beneath the ground s surface.

_Silence ._

The screams were gone, but the floor bubbled, presumably as the people screamed their last breaths beneath the clay s surface. Basil, now in his true form, a beast, sighed.

_Why can't I cry?_

He thought to himself, as his body sunk down into the stage. The auditorium transformed back into it s original state in a matter of moments, the chairs were back in their places, the back drop was up, and the curtains closed. Basil s body emerged backstage, before his mirror, he stared at his reflection, his red stubble meeting his thick head of red hair via the side burns that ran up his cheeks. He turned on the tap.

_If only Clay could cry._

Out front, the snow had covered the street and the surrounding buildings, even the theatre s roof itself. The Marquee shifted itself around, now reading something new, for tonight was still a special night:

**_The Wayne's Story. 9:10 PM._**

_Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths..._


End file.
